


The Price of Dreams

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel wishes for that which he cannot truly have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Given the timeline, it didn't make any sense to use the Sindarin for of the characters' names, which meant that I would have to find a solution for Glorfindel and Ecthelion. For this end I resorted to [Quenya Lapseparma](http://www.elvish.org/elm/names.html) and the [Council of Elrond](http://www.councilofelrond.com/).
> 
> Glorfindel = Vanyacar (fair head)  
> Ecthelion = Varyamo (protector)  
> Aredhel = Írissë  
> Fingolfin = Nolofinwë  
> Fëanor = Fëanáro  
> Turgon = Turukáno  
> Galadriel = Artanis  
> Celegorm = Turkafinwë  
> Finarfin = Arafinwë
> 
> Many thanks to Malinornë for the beta. All remaning mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for the [2007 Stocking Stuffer Swap](http://www.littlebalrog.com/hetswap/2007.htm) for trekqueen, who requested Glorfindel/Aredhel, with romance, drama, angst, smut. Please DO NOT include pwp, rape, incest.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Shores of Aman, 1495 Valian Years of the Trees**

Varyamo came running from the sea scattering icy drops all around him and transpiring energy and an endearing alacrity from every one of his pores. The water had been too cold for Vanyacar's taste, but despite his protests, he enjoyed the temporary respite from Laurelin's blazing heat on his skin. Letting a happy sigh off his chest, Varyamo dropped to his friend's side.

"You're brooding again," he stated, turning to his side on the warm sand to rest his head on the heel of his hand.

"I'm not brooding."

"Are too," came the swift reply.

A hint of a smile twitched on Vanyacar's lips for a moment but he didn't pursue the game. They were not children any more, and though Varyamo's intention was good, he really didn't feel like being cheered up now. The moment passed and both sighed, for their own reasons. Vanyacar covered his eyes with his other forearm. He just knew that before the mingling of the Lights he'd look like a boiled lobster while Varyamo would only have acquired one more layer of healthy tan. Nothing to do about that.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me?" Varyamo insisted.

"No."

Varyamo gave his best condescending sigh. "Well, you don't have to. Like the rest of Valinor I already know what ails you. I just wanted to know the specifics of today."

Vanyacar dropped his hand squinting fiercely against Laurelin's rays. "She's going off hunting again with him, right after Yavanna's festival."

Varyamo issued a short bark. Coming from anyone else Vanyacar would have immediately assumed derision, but Varyamo was his friend, a third cousin that was more of a brother. What Vanyacar heard was contempt and impatience mixed in equal parts. Varyamo's following tirade left no doubt to be had.

"I told you once and again that Írissë is no match for you. Even if you were of the same age, even if she preferred your lute playing to Turkafinwë's idiotic hunts, and even if she didn't have her nose stuck so far up her snatch that she could see you for more than a cute toy, she wouldn't be right for you. Írissë has a bad heart, cousin. All she has is a big pair of hooters that have thoroughly blinded you. If you have to like older women why can't you at least take an interest for Artanis?"

Vanyacar squinted harder as Varyamo rambled on. He tried to endure it as he had the other times Varyamo had gone down that road, but today his cousin was pressing harder, using uglier words and Írissë's laughter had been so cool as she had dismissed him, and Turkafinwë's snide smile had been more unbearable.

"SHUT UP!" Vanyacar hadn't realised he had been holding his breath until he had shouted, sitting up in the sand. He glared down at Varyamo who, despite his surprise had a reply in line already, but before his cousin had a chance to speak Vanyacar unleashed a torrent of bitter words as he scrambled to his feet.

"Who gives you the right to criticise Írissë or to criticise me for wanting her? I used to think you were trying to be my friend but I am starting to suspect that your only motives are pure envy because you don't have the balls, the looks or the social position to even dream of one day aspiring to someone like her. You're just spiteful, and you'll be even more the day I prove you all wrong and win her." Vanyacar stood trembling slightly in the afternoon's overheated air.

Varyamo slowly rose to his feet, straightening his back to stand to his full height, a good two inches less than Vanyacar but almost regal in his dignified bearing. Vanyacar unwittingly stepped back as their hate-filled eyes crossed. His jaw was so tightly set that it barely moved when he spoke.

"You'll live to regret those words, friend."

A quick downward movement and Varyamo had his shirt in his hand and walked away. Vanyacar clenched his fists, forcing himself not to chase Varyamo down and force him to swallow his words. It would not do to brawl with the likes of him. But as soon as Varyamo was over the dune and out of sight, Vanyacar started kicking the sand in angry silence, his teeth gritted so hard his cheekbones ached. A low growl started somewhere above his stomach, ascending to his throat, knotting, choking until it broke out of him in an angry torrent of obscenities that spared no one, not even his beloved Írissë, who in that moment earned her share of hate too.

Then he dropped exhausted to the sand, too tired to do more than blink. Telperion's cold, silver hues waxed and waned in the deserted shore before Vanyacar found the will to rise, put his shirt on and thread back home toward the blinding light of the Calacirya.

* * *

The day of the festival came swiftly. Vanyacar had little free time and was too busy with chores until the last day, but he gave his friend a thought while he bathed and prepared himself to appear in court looking like a nobleman's son instead of a peasant.

His parents, only distantly related to royalty, lived in their farm just outside the limits of Tirion. His father, half-Vanya and distantly related to Finwë's house thanks to the ill-advised marriage of one of drimë's sons to a cousin on his mother's side, liked to cultivate the notion that their station in life was higher than it was in reality. Still, Nolofinwë cultivated the notion that his palace should be open to all and Vanyacar's were invited often enough, further igniting his father's social and political aspirations. He actively encouraged Vanyacar's interest in Írissë, reminding him again and again that they had land, wealth and relations of enough importance for hin to seek the hand of the granddaughter of the king. Vanyacar was heartened by his father's approbation, despite of his shameless mercenary perspective being quite far from his sincere affections. Father and son lived peacefully.

Vanyacar's mother, however, was Vanya and had no wish to rise in the Noldo court. She had married for love, against her parents' judgement but with their reluctant permission. After three children and more time together than she cared to remember, she had begun to suspect that the relative peace of her house was held more by an effort of will than by any remains of love or respect her marriage might still carry. Her family had much closer ties to Inwë than her husband's would ever have with Finwë, and yet they asked not for honours or distinction as her husband constantly did. Shouldering the labour and the aggravation, she held the farm in tight reins, scheduling the work, handling the help, taking care of the house, raising the children. Her dowry, a small plot of rocky land at the edge of town had grown into one of the wealthiest houses of the region, but that was not enough for her husband, never enough. Still, she gritted her teeth and scrubbed her children, dressed them in their finest and let them accompany her husband to the parties in the high houses of Tirion.

The familiar tension had finally bloomed into a thundering silence when a very young Vanyacar had fallen for a maid of tarnished reputation, as his mother liked to put it in a way that spoke more of ill-disguised contempt than of true appreciation for delicate language.

So now Vanyacar's family rode to Valinor in the heavy silence that always followed their parents' arguments, this time over his mother's tardiness, perceived as sabotage by his father. His sister and brother-in-law let a healthy distance build between them and their parents. Vanyacar and his younger brother, being single and still under their parents' tutelage could not afford a similar reprieve.

They had just crossed the city's gates when the lights started mingling. Then, instead of the waxing of Laurelin's gold, darkness came. They spurred their mounts on, trying to find someone in the empty streets who could answer their questions but all were gathered in the main square, as was expected. When they finally arrived there, chaos reigned. Families and young lovers, groups of friends, Noldor, Vanyar, Teleri, all mingled in shared confusion and fear. In the stands, in the place of honour, Nolofinwë and Fëanáro talked in apparently relative peace. Around them messengers came and went, searching for instructions from them and from the Valar. Vanyacar's family waded through the crowd in the direction of the stands but soon only he and his father remained together. They quickly found their way to Nolofinwë and waited for acknowledgement and instructions. From the corner of his eye, Vanyacar saw Írissë. Her countenance spoke of courage and firmness but she seemed to be blinking more often than usually. Vanyacar wished that he could forego protocol and join her immediately, but that was impossible.

Soon Nolofinwë turned to them and welcomed them. "We have little news, my friends, and there are things that we cannot know for sure yet, not even the mighty Valar have certainties at this point, but let there be no doubt that this is the work of Melkor."

"What will you have us do, my lord," Vanyacar's father asked.

"Nothing for the moment," Nolofinwë replied. Beside him, Fëanáro glared.

Father and son bowed and retreated to a distance, waiting.Now that Vanyacar was free to go to Írissë, he hesitated, however. He knew those blinks were for Turkafinwë, who had not come with his father. Still, still... he mustered himself and went to her to offer his support. Raising her eyes for the first time to him, Írissë jumped up to embrace him.

"Oh, Vanyacar! You're here!" Her relief at seeing him was patent and Vanyacar returned the embrace with renewed hope.

"I was afraid something had happened to you, you were so late..."

"My parents," Vanyacar explained with a short sigh. Írissë herself was no stranger to family tension and understood his situation.

"Yes, but thank Eru that you are here safe. If only we could say the same of Turkafinwë..."

Vanyacar's heart sank for a moment, but he swallowed his disappointment at her reply. "I'm sure he'll be fine..."

* * *

The awaited news came soon enough, gathered by the Valar, delivered by Eonwë. The Trees were no more. Many tales were written about what happened next. Vanyacar, for his part, disliked them all for the heroic dimension people would lend to events that had been more of a tragicomedy streak. Did they ever mentioned the confusion, the fear, the great divide separating families right before their eyes? Oh, he had stories, but to tell them he would have to relive the time when he himself had been far from his finest. His excuse had been youth and romanticism. Here was his chance to be Írissë's knight in shining armour. That had meant walking into carnage, sword in hand and butchering those who only tried to protect their livelihood. That had meant waiting like a dog for more than a pat in the head from Írissë. That had meant leaving Valinor without a word of blessing from his mother. Even his father, Nolofinwë's liege to the end, had seen their voluntary exodus as madness. And yet he had gone.

The long march north, the blood on his hands... had there been any chance of forgiveness he would have gone back. He had not known, he told himself. No one in Turukáno's host had. The guilt was there, though, and perhaps those of Arafinwë's kin could return to their old lives but the road back was closed to him. And though it shamed him, he found something to live for beyond grief and guilt. As hard as he had tried to deny it, both to himself and to Varyamo, inside he had always know that Írissë saw him as a boy. Now, for the first time, despite his bloody hands, she sought him out. He, not Turkafinwë, not her father and not her brothers. In fact, she seemed to have completely cut off Turkafinwë from her thoughts and words.

On the long way north the mood of the group oscillated between a falsely gay hope and the sombreness of guilt and loss. Vanyacar and Írissë were no exception. They rode slowly, following the ships along the coast and now as ever, Fëanáro and his kept to themselves, communicating from the ships only when strictly necessary. Vanyacar's dislike for them started to amount to a mild form of hatred, despite a secret thankfulness for this apparent neglect.

And one day it happened. Cries roused them from a short rest and the whole of Nolofinwë's host stood in the coldest of darks watching orange flames in the distance. Betrayal was clear and almost expected. Still some voices that dared suggesting hope and other explanations. Silently, Írissë turned her face away from the faint light and buried it in Vanyacar's shoulder.

* * *

The crossing of the Grinding Ice was hard and long. None of those who succeeded in it went unscathed; bonds were broken and others forged, possessions were lost, as were and too many loved ones. The cold was so intense that sleep was not possible, and satisfying basic physiologic needs was nothing short of torture. Personal hygiene and social rules disappeared, as did the food, much quicker than their best estimates. Sheer survival became so central that even the thoughts of revenge against Fëanáro diminished.

Vanyacar felt lost. 'What am I doing here?' he would ask himself a dozen times a day. 'We should all be home,' he would add, an incessant afterthought that would not vanish no matter how often he repeated to himself that the way back was barred by the words of Mandos. But then Írissë touched him, pulled him along by the hand, leant on his shoulder... A sickening hope coiled in his stomach. Could it be possible to begin again?

He saw Varyamo now and then in the crowd. Since the day on the beach, they had not talked again. Too many things going on, too much embarrassment and regret on both parts. Only when Elenwë disappeared into the ice did they finally speak. First their eyes crossed in mutual understanding over Turukáno's grieving form. Írissë held on to Vanyacar tighter than ever, and he kept by her side. Later, as they marched on, their paths converged.

"Madness," Varyamo grumbled. "We're all mad."

"True. I didn't expected to see you here," Vanyacar replied.

"We all have our motives. I see that you've finally got what you wanted. I hope you're happy."

Vanyacar nodded. Had he? Írissë and he had become close out of necessity but one day the road would end and Turkafinwë would be on the other side. Would she forgive him? She had always been too quick to do so. And what of him?

"I'm glad you're here," Vanyacar replied at last.

* * *

Eventually all roads come to an end and the desert of ice gave place first to barren, frozen soil, then to meagre, coniferous woods. Food was scarcer than ever but the terrible bite of deep cold was behind them and the spirits of the group started to lift. The final push they needed was given by the rise of the moon in her silvery glory. There was hope, they were not forgotten, heavy as their curse lay on them. They celebrated, letting life run in their veins once more, allowing themselves a brief moment of joy before continuing the hard road. That night, for the first time, Írissë kissed Vanyacar on the lips.

* * *

They came to the margins of a lake, only to sight from afar the kin who had left them to die. Harsh words were said, but Nolofinwë wisely called out for peace. Their first tasks were to arrange shelter and food. There were no strangers now in this crowd of thousands. All worked together, slept huddled in improvised tents, kept their rising tempers in check. Vanyacar now saw less of Írissë, who stayed with her brothers and father, but more of Varyamo who was in the same shelter as him. Amazingly, in a matter of a few months, the shabby camp was turned into a semblance of a city.

Vanyacar was no stranger to hard work, having been raised on a farm. Soon enough he had a house erected by the labour of his own hands and of Varyamo's and a few other friends. In the following days he would help them with theirs in turn, but on that first evening the builders gathered around the brand new fireplace and ate what little they had managed to hunt. Varyamo returned to his old tent but some of the others huddled in the floor of the living room and spent the night there, enjoying the first solid shelter in almost a year's time. Vanyacar went to his room, which was cold and bare but his. His cloak served as his blanket as it had so often in the past. In the shelter of his room, the cold of Helcaraxë seemed almost distant and for an instant he rued that the journey had come to an end and that he rested now with empty arms, and Írissë was again so far from him.

* * *

More than a month passed before Vanyacar saw the floor of his living room cleared at night. Despite his worst assumptions, Írissë did visit him. Nolofinwë procured his counsel as a farmer's son and Vanyacar visited him in his improvised halls along with others who knew how to work the land. The sat and talked for hours of the possibilities and how the work should be organized and by the end of the session, Írissë called him to the side for a word.

They conversed briefly about the state of their affairs, sounding almost as strangers to one another and on an impulse Vanyacar asked her to visit him. That very night Írissë came by with a meagre bird she had managed to shoot in the woods as a gift. Vanyacar's guests, Rog and Duilin, two brothers from a farm close to his father's, offered to leave, but Írissë insisted that they stayed as manners demanded. The evening was tense and full of awkward silences.

By the time Vanyacar saw Írissë again he expected the awkwardness to return, but instead she seemed to be in a particularly jovial mood and teased him about his guests. Upon hearing that they had built their own home, she promised a second visit. Vanyacar smiled, saying she would be welcomed but didn't let hope burn too brightly.

* * *

A week passed. Vanyacar often thought about Írissë's promise, but laughed his dreams away with a bitter snort. He worked from sunrise until the dead of the night and it was often that visitors came at late hours, and so, when on another lonely evening someone knocked on the door, his first thought was not that it could finally be Írissë. Upon seeing her, he stumbled away from the door, inviting her in.

"Írissë!" he said gleefully. "Please do sit," he offered, showing her the impromptu furniture with a gesture of his arm.

"Thank you," she said, proffering a basket.

"A gift?"

"It is customary to give one to new home owners, isn't it?" She winked.

Vanyacar smiled and lifted the napkin to see what was inside.

"Dinner," she said with no prompt. "I've heard that all you do nowadays is working so I bring you food to keep you from falling from your feet."

Vanyacar grinned. "The news of my starvation are highly exaggerated... but thank you. Now, let's see..." He looked around but there was no table to offer. "I hope you don't mind eating while sitting on the floor... that is, assuming that you will stay for a while longer, of course."

Írissë smiled. "You still treat me as something too delicate, even after the Helcaraxë..."

Despite her smile, Vanyacar heard a hint of reproach and even disappointment in her words. "Not at all... but you are the daughter of the king."

"And you know I prefer to eat a rabbit I shot, cleaned and roasted myself sitting on the forest ground than the finest venison in court. Not that we have venison these days..." she added, bitterly referring to the quick depletion the woods around Mithrim had seen with their arrival.

Vanyacar assented. "True."

They sat in silence, arranging themselves and the food in the space between them. Vanyacar looked at her surreptitiously, thinking about their exchange of words. In the matter of a few months he felt he had grown, that he had finally stopped being a boy under his father's wing and that he was now an adult. He certainly had shouldered well his responsibilities and more. The cold where a small mistake could mean death had taught him to repress the impulsiveness of youth; the scarcity of food and shelter had taught him to value abundance as he had never learned to; their darkest hour had shown him the best and the worst of the people around him. Could it be the same for Írissë? He looked at her wondering, seeing her and himself under a new light. She had changed too, becoming quieter, but not tamer.

He excused himself and went to the back of the house to fetch water. Írissë's rabbits deserved a rich red wine but they had carried nothing of the sort and even if they had had time to plant the vineyards and make it, the climate was too harsh for grapes here in the North. Standing by the doorjamb he looked at her again, the paleness of her skin barely tinged by the colours of the shy fire that lit his hearth. She looked older and fiercer as if she had lost layers along the way. She was not the girl he had wanted to court in Valinor, and he was not that boy, not any more. With a deep breath he returned to her side.

"Here," he said, filling two mugs. "The finest water from the western spring."

She took it in silence and thanked by taking a long sip and emitting a sound of approval. "Fine water indeed. Funny how we learn to appreciate the simpler things of life, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Vanyacar," she started carefully. "I don't like lying. Not to you."

Vanyacar was tempted to speak and ease her with kind words but a sudden thought of Varyamo's words and the way the whole rendezvous had felt so deliberate stayed him. Írissë looked pleadingly, but he merely encouraged her to go on with an upward twitch of his eyebrow.

"I want you to be my lover." Írissë had the modesty to blush and look away.

"Very romantic," Vanyacar replied tersely. His most cherished dream had not come true in the fashion he had imagined. "You don't want me to ask for your hand but you want to try my bed before marriage. Or is it after too? So that Turkafinwë can have the pleasure of running his sword through me?"

"No, of course not!" Írissë drew back as if she had been slapped. "No one would know. How can you think that I would want you to be in harm's way?"

"No one would know..." Vanyacar said, rising slowly to his feet. He walked to the door and laid a hand on the handle in a mute invitation for Írissë to leave. She followed him quickly and stood in front of him, stubbornly ignoring the door.

"Don't be like this, Vanyacar. Please don't be like this."

Vanyacar took his eyes from his hand on the handle. "A friend once told me I would ever be a toy to you. I wouldn't believe him and I didn't until now. I thought we... I thought you had learned to like me, though I'm not so foolish as to think you would love me. I don't know what you want of me, but it's not what I want... wanted from you."

Írissë touched his cheek pleadingly. "It's really not as you think. Please close the door and hear me out. Then you can ignore me or expel me or do as you wish."

Vanyacar's hand wavered on the door, but in the end he closed it. Írissë's proposal, so clinical and cold, had been a hard blow but he wanted desperately to believe that there was a valid reason behind her request.

"It's true that I don't love you," she said. "But I find you beautiful and honourable, I admire your generous heart, your pragmatic mind, your steady character. I could love you, and I want it so to happen. But this is not why I invited myself to your bed."

Vanyacar took a deep breath and waited.

"Vanyacar, I am a virgin."

Írissë lowered her eyes, then faced him with resolve. He stood there staring at her, unable to fathom what her designs were.

"So?"

Írissë gave a bitter chuckle. "You are the only person who could ask that, aren't you? Don't you see that everybody else thinks that I gave myself to my cousin long ago? Even my father. I haven't, and I don't want to... I want you to have me first, before him. I could not stand being another conquest for him, comparable to an excellent piece of game. And I would want to know about love, or something like it before I am to be wed, since I will most certainly not after."

"What you ask is against everything that I believe in. You would not have me for a husband but you will have me for your..." Vanyacar hesitated, swallowed hard, then found it in himself to say it. "Whore. I won't be that." He opened the door and waited for her to leave with his face turned away.

* * *

Days passed. As much as he would have wanted to, Vanyacar could not forget the incident. He had thought that he had matured, that he could see the world with the eyes of an adult but no, he still could be so easily bruised. He was distracted and morose. Often Varyamo inquired so as what was wrong; other friends showed concern too, but Vanyacar could not and would not repeat the conversation with Írissë, could not even think of it without feeling a such a pang in his chest that he lacked for air. The image of Írissë standing in front of him with shimmering eyes and speaking of love and the lack of it with such hopelessness kept returning to his mind. Had he been harsh? Too prideful? No, bodies were not to be shared lightly, and certainly not for curiosity's sake. But was Írissë curious in what regarded love? She was not one for pleading and her armour was the thickest Vanyacar had ever seen. Was there more to her words? But no, that thought could not be harboured. Varyamo had been right. He would ever be a toy, not a spouse. Still, when they caught sight of each other and her eyes followed him, Vanyacar wondered again at the clenching in his heart, and the sorrow in her face.

One evening, Vanyacar returned home to find Írissë sitting on his doorstep.

"Good evening," he pushed out, ostensibly holding the key. Hastily, she rose and gave way for him to pass. As he struggled with the key, she calmly put her hand on his wrist and squeezed gently.

"I am sorry. I never meant to hurt your feelings. I meant it when I said I wished to keep your friendship for always and I bitterly regret that I haven't."

Vanyacar took his eyes from the key and looked at her. Her eyes were rimmed in red.

"Come in," he said, shaking his head to himself, to his heart broken at the mere thought of her suffering.

Írissë swiftly followed him inside.

"I wish I hadn't asked for what I did. I never thought you'd feel like that. And it was all for naught as my brother finally convinced my father that this was a terrible idea."

"So I have no use for you now, is that it?" The suddenness and intensity of Vanyacar's fury left him almost light-headed.

"It's not like that!" Írissë practically shouted. "Varda! I can never say the right thing, can I? I wanted to know love with someone who actually has some to give and I lost my best friend. I wanted to get my friend back and I offend him more. What can I do for you to see that I lo-" she paused and breathed. "That I love you dearly."

"Not enough to want me for your husband, or even for your bed now that your virtue is not threatened to be taken by a brute anymore." Vanyacar realized that he was shouting and that they would probably be heard by passersby.

Írissë didn't seem to care as she shouted back. "Is that what you want? Because if sleeping with you is what it takes to get you back, then consider it done." She furiously tore at the high neck of her dress, making a button pop and scratching her own skin. With shaking hands she continued pulling but Vanyacar closed the distance between them and held her wrists in a tight grip.

"If we were ever to lie together it wouldn't be for that." The anger was still in his voice but at least it had returned to a normal level.

"I can't stand this," she said. "Can't you see how much I like you?"

"But not love."

"Not as you would want me to, no. Maybe if we... maybe if we had lain together my heart would have changed."

Vanyacar let go of her wrists. "And now you bait me."

Írissë framed his face with her hands and drew closer. She parted her lips as if to speak, a small gasp leaving her mouth but she remained quiet, simply drawing closer until their lips touched. Unlike the almost innocent peck on the lips she had given Vanyacar when the sun had first risen, this kiss was deliberate and tender, sweetly exploratory and warm. Vanyacar hadn't realized he had closed his eyes until Írissë broke the kiss and buried her face against his neck. "You always smell of hay and summer," she whispered. He held her, trying to figure out exactly when had their arms had entwined around each other. He could not think of a word to say.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, drawing back to look into his eyes.

Vanyacar shook his head. His first real kiss had stolen his words.

"Shall I go?"

"No," he croaked as fast as he could.

She kissed him again, and their kiss lasted longer this time, as they delved deeper into each other. Vanyacar's thoughts were frozen, except for one: that this was so much better than any dream he could have had. Írissë was perfection, as she smiled at him, as she traced his cheek with her fingers and kissed him again and again. He had known all along that underneath the hard façade of a daughter of nobility there was sweetness and lovingness. And she was wrong, she had to love him, she just didn't know it yet. These kisses could never feel like that if not for love.

They kissed for a long time standing by the entrance of Vanyacar's house, until it was completely dark outside. Vanyacar parted with a happy sigh. He knew his grin was silly, but Írissë's smile seemed to also be stuck to her face.

"I'd better accompany you home now," he said reluctantly.

Írissë pouted. "Yes, I know it's time to head back... but you needn't come."

Vanyacar's smile immediately vanished. "Why? You don't want to be seen with me?"

"Sshh, don't think bad things so quickly. I was just trying to spare you a walk in the cold."

"Írissë, this is not Aman. People are different here and the nights are not entirely safe."

"Vanyacar, I don't need another brother. I can take care of myself!" She opened the door, turned to deposit a quick kiss on his lips and left before he could move.

* * *

The next evening, Írissë was at his doorstep again. Vanyacar had dared hoping she would and had come back home earlier. He felt wings growing on his feet at the sight of her. As soon as the door was open and they were inside, they embraced so tightly that ribs cracked.

"I missed you," he said. "Sorry."

She laughed. "Sorry for missing me or for my ribs?"

He grinned but he had no witty replies to deliver, just kisses. They slowly made the small distance from the door to the fireplace and then they paused long enough for Vanyacar to light the fire and spread a blanket on the floor.

"Will you eat with me?" he asked.

With a grin, she nodded. "Yes, but later." She pulled him by the hand and they sat on the blanket, kissing lightly.

"I saw you today," she said. "You were with your friend and looked busy."

"Varyamo? Yes." Vanyacar frowned, remembering the unexpected questioning regarding his sudden change of mood and the awkward atmosphere that had hung between him and Varyamo. Their friendship had grown almost to what it had been before their fight in Aman, but now Vanyacar felt guilty for having a secret. He decided not to let it ruin the evening.

"What were you doing when you saw me?"

"On my way to the forest." She frowned. "If we don't get our livestock growing and some crops for next year, I think we'll be in serious trouble. It took me the whole day to catch a miser dozen rabbits and a couple of quails." She shook her head. "Let's not talk about these things."

Vanyacar agreed, recognizing his own feeling in her words. "All right." For a second they sat quietly, studying each other's face, and Vanyacar feared they had run out of things to say but then both started speaking simultaneously.

"Guess who I saw today?"

"Did I tell you that I am making a sofa?"

They started laughing, begging the other to continue, and suddenly all awkwardness and dark thoughts were gone and they were simply Vanyacar and Írissë, laughing and talking about everything and nothing, kissing sweetly, eating dry cheese while sitting on the hard floor like the poorest of peasants.

The evening passed too quickly, though. Again Vanyacar volunteered to take Írissë home, but she denied him once more. "It's not that we can't be seen together. I don't care. It's just that... when you do that, I feel tied. I like being alone for a while-"

"You're practically alone when you hunt in the forest everyday."

"It's different."

Vanyacar frowned but let her go with a kiss, trying to understand. He had always known she loved what freedom she could have.

* * *

For the following month Írissë showed up each evening. Vanyacar found himself returning home earlier and earlier but she would always beat him. Their time together was the best part of their days and they relished it.

One afternoon, while the sun was still high, they met on the way to Vanyacar's house.

"Turukáno asked me where I've been spending all my time," Írissë said. "I think he's the only one who ever notices me. And I haven't been hunting much. Not that there is much to catch."

"What did you tell him?" Vanyacar asked cautiously.

"That I was with you." She shrugged.

"As a friend?"

"I didn't specify and he didn't ask but if there's someone who knows me well that is Turukáno. So, there's your answer."

Vanyacar smiled. It wasn't the answer that he would have wanted but it was close enough. "I have the first carrots here." He proudly lifted a bunch of dirty carrots. "Tonight we have soup!"

Írissë grinned and took his arm. Vanyacar could see a few heads turning in their direction and the gossip already forming as a cloud above them and it made him glad. The world would know that Írissë was his.

They entered his house and made the soup, teasing each other and kissing every few moments, then ate it on Vanyacar's new sofa, a large piece that owned nothing to elegance but that at least was comfortable enough, if a bit lumpy.

"I suppose you'll have tables and chairs and all those things pretty soon but I rather liked our blanket on the floor," she said.

"We can still have it." Vanyacar reached behind his head and retrieved the blanket from behind the couch. "See?" He spread it before them. "We can celebrate having soup and furniture on the old blanket."

Írissë laughed as she slipped down to the floor.

"Are you serious?" Vanyacar asked, not waiting for her answer to follow.

"Very serious," she grinned, pulling him close for a kiss. With nimble fingers, she released his hair from the thong that held it in a ponytail and ruffled it. "I don't know if I like more your hair or your eyes," she said.

Vanyacar grinned. "Do you have to choose?"

"No." She kissed him again, running her fingers through his hair, coming closer. Vanyacar kissed her back, sighing in the kiss as he let his hands run up and down her back, feeling the exquisite curves and the luxurious hair beneath his fingers. They had been together for a month and already he felt such difficulty in controlling himself, the places his hands touched, the thoughts in his head... wondering how anyone ever resisted those long engagements, he kissed her lightly and sat back, shifting slightly to discreetly adjust his arousal in his breeches.

"You haven't told me about your day yet," he said, trying to ignore her hand tracing delicate circles on his thigh.

"Boring. You're the most interesting thing..." Her reply was laconic but her hand was not. Vanyacar felt the light touch as trails of fire.

"Seriously," he insisted.

"Yes, it was seriously boring." She nibbled on his ear lobe, then on the tender skin where jaw met neck. "I love it when you do that to me. Does it feel the same for you? Like there's a fountain of fire spreading in rivers every where."

Vanyacar gasped. "Yes. But..."

Írissë covered his mouth with hers, taking his hand to her breast. "You never touch me here. Don't you like it?"

Vanyacar let out a ragged sigh. "Írissë, please. It's hard to-"

"I know it's hard."

Vanyacar could hardly believe when she touched him between his legs. A jolt coursed through him, so intense he almost came. "-control myself," he forced himself to finish, delicately pushing her hand aside as he drew back.

"Írissë..."

"Just love me, Vanyacar. We both want it. My reputation won't be worse for it and neither will yours - everybody's talking already."

"You are ever the romantic," he managed to smile despite the frown her words had caused.

"I've never been as happy as I am with you."

Even as she said it, mist formed in her eyes. She hid her face in Vanyacar's hair but not before he saw her tears. "Hush," he said embracing her."Everything is fine."

She sighed and kissed his hair. "I love you."

Vanyacar had not expected the words. He had avoided them himself, for fear of not hearing the reply he wished for. "I love you too," he said. They kissed, and this time, when Írissë's hand strayed to his hardness, Vanyacar didn't push her away. He let her touch him, as he explored her body too, reverently touching her full breasts, depositing kisses over the fabric of her gown.

She took her hand from him, and deftly unfastened the buttons of her gown exposing herself down to the waist. Vanyacar immediately covered her bosom with kisses and sweet caresses that grew more intense as Írissë's breathing became heavier and she cradled his head in her hands, begging for more. She slid back until she was lying on the blanket and with Vanyacar on top of her, still kissing her nipples, her neck and her mouth. He could feel her hands moving on him, from his hair to his neck where she worked the fastenings until he was free to take his tunic off. He wasted no time. A part of him still said that he should stop and wait for them to be properly betrothed, married even, but Írissë kissed him so, tried to touch his nipples as he had touched hers and it felt so good and right. Her legs were wrapped around his waist now and he was so hard, rubbing against her through all the cloth, in a pleasure that was almost painful.

She reached down and tried to unlace his breeches. The knots were tight and in a moment of sobriety, Vanyacar held her hand. "Maybe it's best left this way."

She whimpered under him, rubbing slightly and he let her hand free. In the blink of an eye, he was completely naked, lying on top of her, painfully aroused and still wondering if he should force himself to leave for his room and quickly bring himself off with his hand.

"You're so beautiful," Írissë said, breaking the last coherent thought in Vanyacar's mind. He turned to lie on his side, in part to lift some weight off of her, in part to better take the rest of her dress off. She lay like him, completely naked under the firelight, almost glowing and suddenly shy. Vanyacar worshiped her body with his hands and his mouth, until she took his hand and guided it where he most wished to touch, the uncharted territory between her thighs. She was wet and hot. Vanyacar had heard many things about making love, but none of it occurred to him now. There was just Írissë who sighed sweetly when he touched her, who moaned when he moved his fingers, and gasped when he touched a particular spot. He tried again and again, feeling that he wouldn't last much longer even if she didn't touch him.

"Vanyacar," she whispered, pushing her hips up against his fingers. "Vanyacar, love me."

Before she had finished the sentence he was on top of her and inside her. He wanted to stop, to make sure she was fine, but his body moved out of its own accord, and her hands were on his buttocks, pulling him in deeper, her nails digging his skin. She bit his shoulder deep and shuddered beneath him, her thighs clenching hard around his hips as she pulsed tightly around his hardness.

"Did I hurt you?" Vanyacar asked, between pants, still moving to her pull. Írissë relaxed slightly around him, laying her head back on the floor though she still heaved.

"No," she sighed between pants. "No, that was incredible."

She reached up to kiss him and Vanyacar let go completely, spilling inside her with only a few more thrusts.

They lay side by side panting, their minds empty of any thoughts until their heartbeats returned to normal and the sheen of sweat on their skin cooled.

"Do you regret it?" Vanyacar asked, though he could not.

"No. Never." She turned and kissed him. "People whisper that it is good but only after a few times. You made it wonderful."

"It was too quick." Vanyacar chided himself silently. Like Írissë he had also heard stories about virgins, mostly about the too-fast kind of virgin.

"It was perfect," Írissë said dispelling his doubts. "And we can try again..."

Vanyacar was still half hard, but at her words the blood in his body all rushed to the same point. "We can," he said. "But it's getting late..."

"Yes, it is." She raised an eyebrow expressing exactly what she thought of that.

Vanyacar kissed her, vowing to himself to take it slower this time. Between caresses and scattered words of love and desire, the evening went by, then the night, and then dawn came. Írissë left with first light, her dress completely wrinkled and a joyfulness in her gait that confirmed any suspicions the gossipmongers may have had.

* * *

That night was the first of many happy ones. Írissë's late arrival was not unnoticed and there was much strife between father and daughter until Nolofinwë decided it was easier to turn the blind eye. Vanyacar wondered at that, that Írissë could face her father to keep a lover but not to reject a husband she didn't want. He supposed it was love, for in his mind he had no doubt that Írissë had come to love him as he had always dreamed. There were quarrels of course, whenever marriage was mentioned. Vanyacar felt that they were bound together by their carnal acts as well as by their love and maintained that they should live in the same house. Írissë would not hear of it or of elflings. She said they had time. They were happy despite all, and became even happier when Turukáno decided to found a realm of his own and to take them away from the gloom of Mithrim and the constant conflicts with Nolofinwë.

To the end of his life and the beginning of another, Vanyacar would always remember the days of Nevrast as the happiest he had known. But nothing remains the same. Turukáno decided he wanted to move to somewhere safer and they did. Vanyacar's good services earned him a title in Turukáno's court and he was widely respected and loved. His life was good except for one detail: the sweet, carefree, sensual woman that Írissë was indoors was all too quickly completely replaced by the tense mask Vanyacar knew from court. Írissë now rarely searched him out and when she did, their couplings were frantic and loveless, often followed by bitter words about gilded cages. Vanyacar often wondered if they were restricted to the Hidden City or if they were directed at him too. He oscillated between anger, disappointment and hope that all would be well someday. It never was.

More and more often Írissë spoke of leaving the city. Sometimes, she said she just wanted to hunt without seeing only mountains in the horizon regardless of the direction. Other times, she spoke wildly of leaving and not returning. Vanyacar could not understand her anymore, but in the day she finally convinced Turukáno to let her make a trip, he was the first to offer to be her escort. Her eyes shone with something dangerously close to hatred, hurting Vanyacar to the core but he said nothing, not even to Varyamo who regarded him from across the room before volunteering too.

And so it was that they left Hidden City and rode out to meet cousins Írissë had professed to love no more. Vanyacar felt the fool, but rode on, ignoring her cold silence and Varyamo's gentle probing. Then the accident happened, followed by the despaired search. When Vanyacar returned to Gondolin followed only by Varyamo and Egalmoth, he delivered the news to Turukáno with the sobriety of those who have utterly failed.

For months he could not even speak. In his heart he knew she was not lost. She had found the freedom she so heartily desired and the price had been his heart.

 

_Finis  
December 2007_


End file.
